Since funemployment, I recently moved out of the delightful shitbox that I formerly called, “home.” It was a hard readjustment and a tearful farewell to all of the things I had gotten so used to: no heat, questionable fire safety, a garbage fridge. But, I have new things to look forward to now. One of these things I was affectionately referring to as “homeless’ing,” where I would delight in staying on friends’ couches.

Since I am the luckiest of ladies, two of my friends granted me a headquarters where I might unpack my cat knickknacks on a less transient basis.

But just like bad credit and scabies follows a person, I have a very special spectral visitor.

What’s that?!

No. It can’t be. There is no possible way that this can what I think it is. Because what I think it is a misplaced crock pot filled with poisonous old food. I remember something like this; something dark, and evil, and filled with some sort of chili…

No!

My trash-fridge is my own personal version of a Stephen King novel. Because upon closer inspection it seems like trash-fridge chili is following me. Haunting me…

Oh come on

I might have created a sentient being in trash-fridge. And I feel like I’m not paranoid in saying that the ghost of it is trying to murder me. IT’S THE CHILI OF THE UNDEAD!

Just like that weird song based off of those bible verses, there is a season for everything before you have to turn on it (or something?). And this was the season to empty out trash fridge. The fridge was so fecund with trash that it really couldn’t accommodate anymore even if I had wanted.

I gathered some support:

cleansing fire

And faced my figurative, and more than likely literal, demons.

The heavenly light is like a taunt

Did I mention that there is a freezer that came with my refrigerator?

cause there is

Things were relatively fine. I managed to wage war with an oozing black liquid that reminded me of Hexxus from FernGully: The Last Rainforest

Remember me? I was just in hiding again

But like every war there is a particular battle that essentially determines the winner. And when it came to the final foe in The War of the Garbage Fridge (2011 -2013) I honestly couldn’t be sure who was going to come out the victor: me or vegan chili in the back of the fridge.

Before you start looking at following pictures, please play the following song.

It shouldn’t be surprising, but it seems that with unemployment I have become considerably lazier than recent memory recalls. With getting laid off I’ve noticed that it has opened up a world of possibilities, such as more time to shower but also less impetus to get out of bed.

Also, re-making Dre’s 2001: The Chronic to make it cat friendly for my kits:

hey-eh-eh-ay catnip everyday

But I’ve been neglecting more than just my personal hygiene and commitment to sanity. I’ve neglected skillet

It seems as though when I was making skillet work double duty as a pasta-maker, I didn’t consider that the noxious combination of pasta water and the bottom of the balsa wood VHS organizer would create something considerably unholy.

this is the tool I use to steam pasta in a cast iron skillet

This is what the bottom looked like after I steamed the pasta:

that ring was not an original feature of the organizer

And this what happened after letting the fumes, and poison, and remnants of pasta that I couldn’t fish out percolate for about a week (read: a month):

Sweet mother of God

It gets worse:

It’s my very own version of the Origin of Species. But, ya know, in my kitchen

When the mold started I did what any person would do.

I put the VHS organizer back on top of the skillet so as not to deal with it.

Until today. Now the little community of, what can only be evil and villainous, mold can live free in the skillet for all of eternity.